


Little voices

by Ivartheboneme



Series: Ivar [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, ivar as a dad, ivar is really scared of having kids, mention of near death in childbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 02:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivartheboneme/pseuds/Ivartheboneme
Summary: I got a request on tumblr! :D"anonymous asked: Hi, i was thinking ir could do a Imagine where reader just give birth to triplets with Ivar and people and his family are astonished reader had 3 babys at One time (sorry any mistakes, i am Brazilian)"This was difficult, but fun, to write.





	

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~At the bridge~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ivar lets Ubbe and Floki help him out of the boat and onto the bridge. They set him down on a barrel and, along with the rest of the brothers, begin to greet those who have come to meet them. Both Ivar and Ubbe eagerly keep an eye out for (y/n) and Margrethe, but none of them seem to be there. Ivar feels a sickening knot of worry start to form in his stomach; she always came to meet him. Ubbe sees the concern in his little brother's face and places a hand on his shoulder. Ivar lets him carry out this small act of comfort, because he remembers the fear in Ubbe's eyes when the midwives told him that Margrethe might bleed to death. _If our baby is deformed like me, (y/n) could be badly hurt_. Just as Ivar is about to drop to the ground and push his way through the crowd he hears someone call out his name.

”Prince Ivar!” The voice calls out again. A few seconds later a slave girl comes crashing through the masses. Ivar tenses up; she couldn't possibly be in such a hurry if everything was well. Floki catches on to what is happening and hurries to copy Ubbe's gesture, his bony hand coming to rest on Ivar's other shoulder. She stops and catches her breath before continuing.

”(y/n) has just given birth to two healthy boys.” Ivar feels the knot dissolve and he breaks into one of those rare smiles that is usually reserved for his wife, though his heart keeps on pounding with worry; the slave hadn't mentioned how (y/n) was doing. His mentor and his brothers enthusiastically pat him on the back and take turns embracing him. The midwives had apparently been correct when they predicted that (y/n) was carrying more than one child. He has half a mind to scold the slave girl for making him worry but his heart is overflowing with joy and he finds himself incapable of forming any harsh words right now.

”And everything is well with her?” He asks, the anxiety clear in his voice. He wishes that he had been there, but how were they supposed to know that their children would be so eager that they couldn't wait another four or five weeks like they were supposed to? (y/n) had insisted that he go on the raid with his brothers. _“It will be fine, you will be back in time”_ she had said and stroked his hair reassuringly.

”So far, yes. Margrethe and the midwives are taking good care of her but she is still in labour, my prince.” Ivar's face goes blank and the men around him freeze in their movements.

“What?”

“She is having a third baby.” His mouth falls open and he can hear Floki make some half-panicked, half-amused noise. Ivar's mind works at full speed to process this. You had been trying for so long without any results and now you had three at once. _Oh gods, three at the same time?_ He had seen how Ubbe and Margrethe sometimes struggled with having two children that were a little more than a year apart. Ubbe ruffles Ivar's hair, finally pulling him from his shocked state.

“Hurry up, little brother, so that you don't miss this one as well.” He says amused, but with a warmth to his voice. Ubbe knew very well how scared Ivar had been that he would never be able to give (y/n) children and that she would leave him for someone who could. _He certainly won't have to worry about his virility anymore_. Ivar nearly falls from the barrel in his eagerness to get to his wife.

“Take me to her.” He orders the slave. She walks quickly, knowing that Ivar can crawl fast enough to keep up. They move through the centre of Kattegatt and make their way to a fairly new house close to the great hall. The slave pushes at the door and holds it open for Ivar. (y/n) is on the floor, with her head resting in Margrethe's lap. Her (h/c) hair is sweaty, tests of it stick to her face and she looks very tired.

“There you are.” She says with a faint smile. Ivar is just about to answer, but a small cry of discomfort cuts through the air. He lifts his head to see one of the midwives, Ásta, holding a bundle in her arms. The girl had already said that the babies were healthy, but Ivar still feels his heart skip a beat when he sees the small legs poking out of the blanket. They are not twisted and useless like his; no, they look perfect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~In your house~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ásta finishes cleaning up your second son and wraps him in a blanket, then carefully puts him down next to his brother that is already resting on a large fur. She sits down next to them and watches them carefully, while the older midwife tugs at your arms to get you away from Margrethe's lap and tries to make you muster up strength for the next child.

“Thank you for bringing him.” You murmur to the slave girl. She bows her head and closes the door behind your husband. Ivar moves up next to you and places a kiss on your cheek.

“I'm so sorry that I'm late. Are you in much pain?”

“I am tired and this last one is stubborn; like you.” Ivar still can't quite wrap his mind around having so many children at once, so he holds up three fingers for you to see and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. You nod in response.

“I think, dear husband, that the gods decided to give us all of our children at once.”

“Are you saying we can't have more?” Ivar asks, half-disappointed and half-relieved. You scoff at him.

“Not unless you're the one to give birth. Now go look at your sons, so that I can focus on this one.” You say and finally give in to Björg, who is urging you on. Ivar reluctantly moves away from you. He crawls to the fur where your baby boys are squirming and whimpering in their blankets and lies down next to them. He tries not to worry as he hears you cry out, your pained noises drowning out Margrethe's encouraging words. At first he just watches the small bundles, but he is struck by an overwhelming need to make sure that this is real and not just some dream that he will be cruelly awakened from. He carefully reaches for the one closest to him and places his hand over the bundle, feeling how it moves under his fingers. He closes his eyes and sends a silent prayer to Freja, begging her to spare the third child too from any disfigurements. Ásta sees how deeply affected Ivar is and takes it as her cue to give him some privacy. Your small house is filled with various noises, but to Ivar they all seem distant as he carefully feels at the other bundle. Then a brand new cry breaks through his blurry thoughts and he realizes that your last baby is here.

“There, now we're done.” Margrethe says calmly and allows you to rest your head in her lap again while Björg wraps the new one in a blanket.

“Let me see.” Ivar demands from somewhere behind you. He tries to keep his voice steady but you can tell that he is worried. The little one is placed in his arms and you hear him take a deep breath.

“Describe our baby to me.” You beg him. You want to look yourself but you are too tired to move next to Ivar, and you don't want anyone to take the child from him now that it's finally resting in his arms.

“It's a girl.” He starts “She has my hair. But your nose, definitely your nose. And she will do so much running with her little legs, playing with her brothers...” Ivar's voice trails of and you can hear him whispering something to your daughter. The midwives allows you a few minutes of rest before they help you clean up.

“Three children. I don't think I've ever seen that before.” Ásta says, her voice full of wonder.

“I have, twice. One time everything went well, although the mother was very sick during most of the pregnancy. They came early too, though not this early.” Björg responds while helping you put on a clean dress. You are on the verge of asking what had happened the second time she saw a woman carrying three children, but decide that you don't want to think about it. All was well with your children and you didn't want your husband to overhear any horror stories; it had been enough to constantly have to reassure Ivar that you were fine ever since you told him you were pregnant. You are guided to the fur where he is sitting, still holding the little girl in his arms. His eyes are wide in some mix of horror and reverence.

“They are so small.” He whispers so that only you can hear, as you lean against him for support “I feel like I might accidentally break them.”

“You won't.” You murmur while picking up one of the boys. You can see that Ivar is about to protest against your reassuring words, so you hurry to change the topic.

“What should we name them?” He presses a kiss to the girl's forehead and your heart melts at the sight. As he speaks he reaches out a hand to brush over the slightly lighter strands on the other boy's head.

”I have some suggestions.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Nine days later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hush, little one. Everything is all right.” You look over at Ivar, smiling at him as he tries to comfort one of the boys. You sit next to him in the great hall, holding your other two babies close. It has been nine days since you gave birth and now it is time to present your children to your families and to the inhabitants of Kattegatt. His brothers sit in the front row, looking up at you, along with Margrethe, Floki and Helga. Ivar clears his throat to get everyone's attention. Once everyone has fallen silent, he begins to speak.

“This is me and (Y/N)'s first son; Ragnar Ivarsson. Let it be known that he is my trueborn child, and that he will have all the comforts and rights that he is entitled too as the son of a prince.” Ivar turns to you, holding Ragnar out to you and waiting for you to hand over the other boy. This is when you both suddenly realize that you haven't really thought this through; how are you supposed to take Ragnar back into your arms, while giving him the other boy and at the same time make sure that your daughter doesn't squirm away from your lap? Margrethe helped you bring the babies here, seeing as Ivar didn't dare to hold one of them while walking with his crutches. He panicked when you suggested that one of them could be secured in a pouch sling, so that he could use both his hands to hold himself upright. “Are you insane, woman? What if I fall?” You stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds, but then Floki steps forward while Helga scurries to your side.

“I would like to hold little Ragnar, if you'll allow it.” Ivar doesn't hesitate a second before holding out the small child to his mentor, he knows that you approve of Floki. The old boatbuilder giggles as baby Ragnar starts to make a fuss when he is removed from his father's warm embrace.

“I have many great stories to tell about your grandfather and namesake, little one.” He whispers and strokes a long, bony finger over the child's cheek. With one eye cautiously watching over the girl, and some assistance from Helga, you manage to hand over your second son to your husband.

“This is our second son; Floki Ivarsson.” You can hear Floki give up a squee of joy somewhere in the corner behind Ivar, and your husband's smile grow even wider. Ivar repeats his words about how this is his trueborn child, and that he will have what he is entitled too. Finally, you carefully give him your daughter.

“This is our daughter; Aslaug Ivarsdottir.” Ivar looks over at Floki and Helga “However, we have decided to giver her a second name as well; Angrboda.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Later that evening~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How exhausted are you, (y/n)? I imagine you can't have gotten much sleep.” Hvitserk asks curiously when he finally takes a break from making faces at Aslaug. Sigurd is sitting next to him, gushing over Ragnar who is fast asleep in Ubbe's arms.

“They seem to wake up at different hours each night and they must always set each other off.” You look at Ivar before continuing “but Ivar has been so eager to get up that I can go back to sleep almost immediately, unless they need to eat of course.” Ivar's face twitches at your words and you think back on how you actually haven't gone back to sleep; instead you have peeked out from under the covers to study how he soothes the little ones and cleans away any spit or soil. Each time it felt like your heart grew bigger and stronger, just like your love for him and the precious bundles that you had worked so hard to bring into this world. Ubbe looks between you and his youngest brother, a content smile on his lips. For a short while all conversation stops; then Ivar speaks up.

“It is the least I can do.” Ivar says softly “You have given me everything.” There is something strange in his voice, like it is about to crack, and then you hear Ivar take a shallow breath. You turn to him and see tears start to roll down his cheeks. His brothers all watch in stunned silence; they are not used to Ivar displaying such strong emotions in front of them, apart from anger and arrogance. You on the other hand hurry to cup his face and wipe away the tears with your thumbs.

“Ivar, don't be sad.” He finally looks up from little Floki and to your surprise he laughs.

“I am not sad, I am happy beyond words. You told me that you loved me, you let me in your bed. Then you married me and now...” he gestures at what is no doubt the most precious treasures he's ever going to have “you have given me everything I thought I could never have.” You feel yourself start to tear up and you lean in to gently rub your nose against Ivar's.

“Do you know, husband, that you have smiled more in these last nine days than you have in all the years that we've known each other?” Ivar reciprocates the affectionate gesture and rubs his nose against yours.

“I love it when you call me husband.” He says, his voice unsteady.

“I know, but I think it will be nothing compared to hearing three little voices call you father.”


End file.
